23. Stone
Chapter 23
Stone
T he fourth stair from the bottom always creaks under my weight. I freeze, listening intently for any reaction from upstairs, but there’s only silence. The same heavy silence that’s been weighing on all of us for the past hour.
Silence from Finn’s nest shouldn’t feel so wrong. Shouldn’t make my skin crawl with unease. But after what happened the last time someone approached his space uninvited…
The memory floods back before I can stop it—Finn’s wild eyes that night, vacant and unseeing. The way he’d pressed himself into the corner of his nest, lips pulled back in a snarl that belonged to a feral animal. Not my mate. Not my Finn.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I’d whispered, reaching for him. “It’s just me.”
But he hadn’t known me. Fresh out of the coma, mind still trapped somewhere between consciousness and darkness, he’d seen a threat.
I’d barely registered the attack—too shocked by the empty look in his eyes to defend myself. His nails had torn strips from my chest, my arms, anywhere he could reach. And when I’d tried to restrain him, to keep him from hurting himself…he’d only fought harder.
He doesn’t remember any of it. The therapist said it’s normal, that trauma does strange things to the mind. But I remember. Remember holding him while he screamed and thrashed, while he begged someone—not me—to stop hurting him.
My shoulder twinges at the memory. The scar there is long healed, but sometimes I swear I can still feel Finn’s teeth.
“If you’re going up there, fucking go,” Ren growls from his position by the front window. He hasn’t stopped moving since we came inside—pacing, checking locks, radiating tension like a live wire about to snap. “Otherwise, sit the fuck down. Your hovering is driving me insane.”
“Because your pacing is so much better?” I shoot back. Fuck, we’re all on edge, dealing with it in our own ways. Jax hasn’t left his post at the bottom of the stairs, like he’s physically placing himself as some kind of support that will prevent this entire thing from crashing down on us. And me…
I’m caught in the middle. As always.
The guilt sits heavy in my gut. I should have told them about Hailey sooner. Should have brought her straight to the pack instead of trying to handle it alone. But after seeing the terror in her eyes, the way she flinched from every shadow…
“You’re thinking too loud,” Jax says quietly. His eyes haven’t left the floor, but I can feel his attention on me. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”
“Wasn’t it?” The words taste bitter. “I kept her hidden. If I’d just?—”
“You did what you thought was right,” Jax cuts me off. “She trusted you. You honored that trust.”
A harsh laugh from Ren makes us both turn. “Trust,” he spits the word like poison. “Yeah, that worked out great, didn’t it? Now we’ve got two traumatized omegas locked in that room together, and we can’t even check on them without risking?— ”
He cuts himself off, jaw clenched so tight I can hear his teeth grinding. There’s something savage in his scent, something that makes my hackles rise even as concern floods through me. I’ve never seen him like this—wound so tight he’s practically vibrating with it.
“Ren,” I start, but he whirls on me with a snarl.
His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with some emotion I can’t name. “Don’t fucking start with me right now, Stone.”
“Then stop acting like?—”
“Like what?” He gets in my face, challenge radiating from every line of his body. It’s almost as if he wants me to punch him hard . “Like I give a shit about what happens to them? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I care that there’s a strange omega in our house who could trigger Finn into another fucking episode. Maybe?—”
“Enough.” Jax’s voice sucks the air from the room. “Both of you.”
I back off immediately, but Ren holds his ground for a moment longer, teeth bared in defiance. Just when I think he might actually challenge one of us, he spins away with a muttered curse.
Silence descends again, broken only by Ren’s agitated pacing and the soft creak of floorboards under my feet as I drift up the stairs.
Four more steps up. Another creak. My heart pounds against my ribs as I strain to hear anything from behind Finn’s door. The silence feels wrong on a visceral level—Finn is never quiet. Even in sleep, he mumbles, shifts, makes those soft sounds that tell us he’s okay.
This silence…it reminds me too much of those first weeks after the accident. When he’d go so still we had to check he was breathing.
“Stone.” Jax’s voice drifts up from below. A warning. Or maybe concern.
“I know,” I murmur back. “Just need to…”
To what? To hover outside the door like some creeper? To torture myself with possibilities? To imagine what might be happening in that room while we stand here uselessly?
The memory of Hailey’s terror when I first found her flashes through my mind. The way she’d curled into herself, trying to make herself smaller. The marks on her buttocks and thighs—old and new, telling a story I didn’t want to read but couldn’t ignore.
“Fuck.” The word escapes on a breath as I reach the landing.
Ten steps to Finn’s door. Nine. Eight. Each one feels like walking through quicksand, my instincts warring between the need to check on them and the fear of making things worse.
Seven. Six. Five.
“If you’re going in there, I’m coming too.” Ren’s voice is right behind me. When did he follow me up?
“No.” The word comes out in a harsh whisper. “You’re too…unstable right now.”
“I’m fucking fine.”
“You put your fist through a car door.”
“Better the car than—” He cuts himself off, but I catch the flinch, the way his hands clench and unclench at his sides.
Four steps to the door. Three.
“Stone.” His voice drops, something raw bleeding into his tone. “Please.”
The plea catches me off guard. Ren doesn’t beg. Doesn’t show vulnerability. Not like this. That’s twice now he’s said “please” this morning, and something cold settles in my gut at the realization. Because in all our time as a pack, I’ve never heard him beg for anything. Not even when he was bleeding out in my arms after the accident. Not even when Finn was in that coma. Whatever this is, whatever he’s hiding—it’s breaking him.
I turn to face him, really look at him, and what I see makes my chest ache. He’s practically vibrating with tension, but there’s something else there. Something haunted in his eyes that goes deeper than just worry about Finn .
“What aren’t you telling us?” I keep my voice low, though Jax can probably hear anyway. “What do you know about?—”
He swallows hard. “Fuck, Stone, don’t ask me that. Please.”
Two steps from the door. Close enough now to catch their mingled scents. It hits me hard. Vanilla and honey wrapped around Finn’s familiar sage and rain. The fact I can smell it through a closed door means they’re both perfuming. A lump swells in my throat as I stop moving.
The scent wraps around my throat like a fist, choking rational thought from my mind. My body betrays me instantly—pulse hammering, muscles trembling, skin too tight. Cock immediately hard. I have to grit my teeth against the urge to follow that perfume to its source, to let instinct override the last threads of my control. Each inhalation is torture. Each exhalation is worse.
But this doesn’t make sense. She can’t be in heat—there’d be crying, whimpers of pain, the desperate keen that every omega in heat makes. And Finn… Finn’s not due for another three weeks, at least. I know his cycles better than I know my own heartbeat. So why is their perfume so potent it’s making my vision blur at the edges? Why does every alpha instinct I possess want me to tear through that door?
The soft sound of harsh breathing beside me finally breaks through my haze. Ren stands rigid, tendons standing out in his neck. His eyes are almost black, pupils blown so wide I can barely see the ring of color around them, and a low growl builds in his chest—not threatening, but distinctly alpha. The sound cuts off abruptly as he clamps down on his reaction, but I catch the way his hands shake, the way his breathing turns ragged.
I meet his wild eyes, letting my silence say what he’s not ready to hear. He’d dismissed my theories about Hailey before. Hadn’t wanted to believe what I’d suspected about her scent, about her compatibility with our pack.
My hand rises toward the door, hesitates .
“They’re quiet,” Ren chokes out, and there’s genuine fear in his voice now. “Why are they so fucking quiet?”
“Maybe they’re sleeping.” But even as I say it, I know it’s wrong. Finn doesn’t sleep easily with strangers. Hasn’t since…
One step left.
The wood is smooth under my palm as I press it against the door, not quite knocking. Just feeling. Listening.
Nothing. No movement. No voices. No…
Wait.
There—so soft I almost miss it. A whisper. Words I can’t quite make out, but Finn’s voice. Steady. Gentle in a way I’ve never heard from him before.
Another voice answers—female, trembling but clear. Hailey.
“Stone.” Jax again, from the bottom of the stairs. “Report.”
I have to pull myself from the door, practically drag myself away. One hand on Ren’s collar and I pull him back like a dog. Their combined scents are too much. We stagger back to the edge of the landing, dazed.
“What’s going on in there?” Jax searches both our gazes, and I see the moment he notices just how much we’re fighting for composure. His nostrils flare, catching what I’m sure is just a trace of what hit us at that door. But even that’s enough to make his eyes flash dangerously before he forces them back to normal. His usual iron control slips just enough to let a low rumble escape his chest before he clamps down on it. His mouth slams shut. Jaw ticks. Brows furrow slightly.
I know that look. The one that settles on his face like a weight, like he’s mentally shouldering another burden. Our alpha, always carrying the pack’s problems like chains around his neck. Always believing every crisis is his to solve, his responsibility alone. The slight downturn of his mouth speaks volumes—he’s already calculating, planning, trying to figure out how to protect us all from whatever storm is brewing behind that door.
“They’re talking,” I try to keep my voice low. It comes out strangled instead. All I can focus on is that combined scent. “I can’t make out words, but…they’re calm.”
A harsh breath escapes Ren. His anger’s ebbing, but it’s almost as if he wants to reach out and grab it again like some cloak. “You sure about that? Because last time Finn was this quiet?—”
“This is different.” I don’t know how I know, but I do. Something about their mingled scents, about the way they’ve wrapped around each other… “They’re okay.”
“I don’t believe it.” He turns to head back to the door, but I tighten my hold on his collar. “Omegas don’t get along?—”
“No.” I keep my hold on him, but he doesn’t try to tug away. Gaze shifting back to the door, I wonder if he wants to go closer again just to make sure. Just to make sure the scent that just hit him is real. “But they’re fine. We would know if they weren’t.”
For a moment, I think he might fight me. His muscles bunch under my palm, aggression rolling off him in waves. But then a low whisper drifts down the hallway. Finn again, that same gentle tone—and Ren…deflates.
“Fuck,” he breathes, tugging away from me as he sags against the wall. “What the hell is happening?”
It’s not really a question. Or if it is, it’s not one any of us can answer.
I should go back downstairs. Should give them privacy. Should trust that Finn can handle this, that he’ll call if he needs us. But…
“Stone.” Ren’s voice cracks. “I can’t…I need to know he’s…”
“I know.” I grip his shoulder, feeling the tremors running through him. “I know, but we have to trust him.”
A bitter laugh escapes him. “Trust? When has that ever worked out for any of us?”
The words hit hard. Because he’s right. Trust is what got Finn hurt in the first place. Trust is what let Hailey suffer alone in that cabin for days while I tried to figure out what to do. Trust is what’s keeping Ren from telling us whatever’s eating him alive right now .
But trust is also what brought us together. What made us pack. What gives us strength when everything else falls apart.
“Come on.” I tug gently at his arm. “Let’s go down. Give them space.”
He resists for a moment, eyes fixed on the door like he can see through it. Then, slowly, he nods.
We make it just one step down before another sound drifts from the room—a soft, broken. A sob.
Ren freezes, every muscle going rigid. “Stone?—”
“No.” I tighten my grip on his arm. “Listen.”
Because it’s not just crying we’re hearing. There are words too, Finn’s voice weaving through the tears. Soothing. Comforting. And underneath it all, their scents remain steady. Calm.
“She’s grieving,” Jax says quietly from below. “Let her.”
Ren makes a sound like he’s being strangled. “You don’t understand. You don’t know what?—”
“Then tell us.” I turn to face him, keeping my voice low but firm. “Tell us what has you so fucking scared right now.”
For a moment—one breathtaking moment—I think he might actually do it. His eyes meet mine, full of such raw pain it steals my breath. His lips part…
Then the mask slams back into place.
“Nothing,” he growls, yanking his arm free. “I told you, it’s nothing.”
He takes the stairs two at a time, shouldering past Jax at the bottom. We watch him stalk to the front window, resume his pacing like nothing happened.
But something did happen. Something about this situation has cracked him open in a way I’ve never seen before. And whatever he’s hiding…
“Let him be,” Jax murmurs, reading my intention to follow. “He’ll tell us when he’s ready.”
“And if he’s never ready?” The words come out a bit too sharp. “If whatever this is puts them in danger? ”
“Then we’ll deal with it.” He catches my arm as I reach the final step, tugging me down to sit beside him.
For a long moment, he says nothing.
“What are you thinking?”
He shakes his head slowly. “Not sure yet.” He pauses. “You ever heard of anything like this? Two omegas connecting so strongly?”
I shake my head.
Jax studies his shoes. “Of all the places she could have gone, she came here. To him.”
“I know.” We’re both staring at the floor now. “Fate?”
Jax scoffs. “You know I don’t believe in that bullshit.”
“Yeah.” Because me neither.
But how the hell else am I supposed to make sense of this?